Michael's eyes glittered with anger beneath his helmet. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"I'm better," I said. "Stars and stones, if this is some kind of self-inflicted spell … I'll have to talk to Bob about this one, later." I rubbed at my eyes and asked, "What about you, Michael? Are you all right?"

"Well enough," Michael said. "But we still don't have a culprit, and it's getting late. I've got a bad feeling that we're going to run into trouble if we don't get out of this place soon."

"I've got a feeling you're right," I said. "Susan? Are you okay? You ready to get out of here?"

Susan brushed her hair idly back from her face with one hand, and turned to stare at me, frowning slightly.

"What?" I asked. "Look, you didn't have to do what you did, but we can work on getting it taken care of. Let's just get out of here. Okay?"

"Okay," she said. Then her frown deepened and she peered at me. "This is going to sound odd, but—do I know you?"

Chapter Twenty-eight

I stared at Susan in mute disbelief.

She looked apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry. I mean. I didn't mean to upset you, Mister …"

"Dresden," I supplied in a whisper.

"Mister Dresden, then." She frowned down at herself, and smoothed a hand uncomfortably over the skirt, then looked around her. "Dresden. Aren't you the guy who just opened a business as a wizard?"

Anger made me clench my teeth. "Son of a—"

"Harry," Michael said. "I think we need to leave, rather than stand about cursing."

My knuckles whitened as I tightened my fingers on my cane. No time for anger. Not now. Michael was right. We had to move, and quickly. "Agreed," I said. "Susan, did you drive here?"

"Hey," she said, squaring off against me. "I don't know you, okay? My name is Miss Rodriguez."

"Look, Su—Miss Rodriguez. My faerie godmother just stole a year's worth of your memory."

"Actually," Michael put in, "you traded it away to her to keep some kind of spell from leaving Harry helpless."

I shot him a glare and he subsided. "And now you don't remember me, or I guess, Michael."

"Or this faerie godmother, either," Susan said, her face and stance still wary.

I shot Lea a look. She glanced over at me and her lips curved up into a smirk, before she turned back to her conversation with Thomas. "Oh, damn. She's such a bitch."

Susan rolled her eyes a little. "Look, guys. It's been nice chatting with you, but this has got to be the lamest excuse for a pickup line I've ever heard."

I reached a hand toward her again. Her own flashed down into the picnic basket and produced a knife, a G.I.-issue weapon from the last century, its edge gleaming. "I told you," she said calmly, "I don't know you. Don't touch me."

I drew my hand back. "Look. I just want to make sure you're all right."

Susan's breathing was a little fast, but other than that she concealed her tension almost completely. "I'm perfectly fine," she said. "Don't worry about me."

"At least get out of here. You're not safe here. You came in on an invitation you had made up. Do you remember that?"

She screwed up her face into a frown. "How did you know that?" she asked.

"You told me so about five minutes ago," I said, and sighed. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. You've had a bunch of your memories taken."

"I remember coming here," Susan said. "I remember having the counterfeit invitation made."

"I know," I said. "You got it off of my living room table. Do you remember that?"

She frowned. "I got it …" Her expression flickered, and she swallowed, glancing around. "I don't remember where I got it."

"There," I said. "Do you see? Do you remember driving out to bail me out of jail a couple of nights ago?"

She'd lowered the knife by now. "I … I remember that I went down to the jail. And paid the bail money, but … I can't think …"

"Okay, okay," I said. My head hurt, and I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. "It looks like she took all of your memories that had me directly in them. Or her. What about Michael, do you remember him?"

She looked at Michael and shook her head.

I nodded. "Okay. Then I need to ask you to trust me, Miss Rodriguez. You've been affected by magic and I don't know how we can get it fixed yet. But you're in danger here and I think you should leave."

"Not with you," she said at once. "I have no idea who you are. Other than some kind of psychic consultant for Special Investigations."

"Okay, okay," I said. "Not with me. But at least let us walk you out of here, so that we can make sure you get out okay. You can't swing a cat without hitting a vampire in here. So let us get you out to your car and then you can go wherever you like."

"I didn't get my interview," she said. "But … I feel so strange." She shook her head, and replaced her knife in her picnic basket. I heard the click of a tape recorder being switched off. "Okay," she said. "I guess we can go."

I nodded, relieved. "Wonderful. Michael, shall we?"

He chewed on his lip. "Maybe I should stay, Harry. If your godmother's here, the Sword might be here too. I might get the chance to take it back."

"Yeah. And you might get the chance to get taken from behind without someone here to cover for you. There's too much messed up stuff here, man. Even for me. Let's go."

Michael fell in behind me, to my right. Susan walked beside him, on my left, keeping us both in careful view, and one hand still inside her picnic basket. I briefly wondered what kind of goodies she'd been bringing in case the big, bad wolf tried to head her off from grandma's house.

We reached the foot of the stairs that led back up into the house. Something prickled the hairs at the back of my neck, and I stopped.

"Harry?" Michael asked. "What is it?"

"There's someone …" I said, and closed my eyes. I brought up my Sight, just for a moment, and felt the pressure just a little above the spot between my eyebrows. I looked up again. The Sight cut through the enchantment in front of me like sunlight through a wispy cloud. Behind me, Michael and Susan both took in sharp breaths of surprise.

The Hamlet lookalike stood three stairs up, half smiling. I realized only then that the figure was a woman rather than a man, the slender shape of her slim hips and breasts obscured by the sable doublet she wore, giving her an odd, androgynous appearance. Her skin was pallid—not pale, not creamy. Pallid. Translucent. Almost greyish. Her lips were tinged very faintly blue, as though she'd been recently chilled. Or dead. I shivered, and lowered the Sight before it showed me something that I didn't want to keep with me.

It didn't change her appearance one bit. She wore a cap, which hid her hair completely, one of those puffy ones that fell over to one side, and stood with one hip cocked out, a rapier hanging from her belt. She held a skull in her other hand—it was a real one. And the bloodstains on it couldn't have been more than a few hours old.

"Well done, wizard," she said. Her voice sounded raspy, a quiet, hissing whisper, the kind that comes from throats and mouths which are perfectly dry. "Very few can see me when I do not wish to be seen."

"Thank you. And excuse me," I said. "We were just leaving."

Bluish lips curved into a chill little smile. Other than that, she didn't move. Not an inch. "Oh, but this is the hour for all to mingle and meet. I have a right to introduce myself to you and to hear your names and exchange pleasantries in return." Her eyes fastened calmly on my face, evidently not fearing to meet my gaze. I figured that whatever she was, she probably had an advantage on me in the devastating gaze department. So I kept my own eyes firmly planted on the tip of her nose, and tried very hard not to notice that her eyes had no color at all, just a kind of flaccid blue-grey tinge to them, a filmy coating like cataracts.